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Sunday, November 11, 2007

... "We Cannot Live without Sunday," takes us back to the year 304, when Emperor Diocletian prohibited Christians, under pain of death, to possess the Scriptures, to meet on Sunday to celebrate the Eucharist and to build premises for their assemblies. In Abitene, a small village in what today is Tunis, 49 Christians, meeting in the home of Octavius Felix, were taken by surprise on a Sunday while celebrating the Eucharist, defying the imperial prohibitions. Arrested, they were taken to Carthage to be interrogated by the proconsul Anulinus.

Significant, in particular, was the response given to the proconsul by Emeritus, after being asked why he had violated the emperor's order. He said: "Sine dominico non possumus," we cannot live without meeting on Sunday to celebrate the Eucharist. We would not have the strength to face the daily difficulties and not succumb. After atrocious tortures, the 49 martyrs of Abitene were killed. Thus, they confirmed their faith with the shedding of blood. They died but they were victorious; we now remember them in the glory of the risen Christ.

We, Christians of the 21st century, must also reflect on the experience of the Abitene martyrs. It is not easy for us either to live as Christians. From a spiritual point of view, the world in which we find ourselves, often characterized by rampant consumerism, religious indifference, secularism closed to transcendence, might seem such a harsh wilderness as that "great and terrible" wilderness (Deuteronomy), of which the first reading spoke to us, taken from Deuteronomy.

God went to help the Jewish people in difficulty with the gift of manna to make them understand that "man does not live by bread alone, but that man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the Lord" (Deuteronomy 8:3). In today's Gospel, Jesus explained to us for what kind of bread God wanted to prepare the people of the new covenant with the gift of manna. Alluding to the Eucharist, he said: "This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live for ever" (John 6:58). The Son of God, becoming flesh, could become bread and in this way be the nourishment of his people journeying toward the promised land of heaven.

We need this bread to cope with the toil and exhaustion of the journey. Sunday, day of the Lord, is the propitious occasion to draw strength from him, who is the Lord of life. The Sunday precept, therefore, is not a simple duty imposed from outside. To participate in the Sunday celebration and to be nourished with the Eucharistic bread is a need of a Christian, who in this way can find the necessary energy for the journey to be undertaken. A journey, moreover, that is not arbitrary; the way that God indicates through his law goes in the direction inscribed in the very essence of man. To follow the way means man's own fulfillment, to lose it, is to lose himself.

The Lord does not leave us alone on this journey. He is with us; what is more, he wishes to share our destiny by absorbing us. In the conversation that the Gospel just recounted, he says: "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him" (John 6:56). How can we not rejoice over such a promise? However, we heard that, in the face of that first proclamation, instead of rejoicing, the people began to argue and protest: "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" (John 6:52).

To tell the truth, that attitude has been repeated many times in the course of history. It would seem that, deep down, people do not want to have God so close, so available, so present in their affairs. People want him to be great and, in a word, rather distant. Then they ask themselves questions to demonstrate that in fact such closeness is impossible.

However, the words Christ pronounced specifically in that circumstance retain all their graphic clarity: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you" (John 6:53). Facing the murmur of protest, Jesus could have backed down with tranquilizing words. "Friends, he could have said, don't worry! I spoke of flesh, but it is only a symbol. What I wish to say is only a profound communion of sentiments."

But Jesus did not take recourse to such sweeteners. He maintained his affirmation with firmness, even in face of the defection of his own apostles, and did not change at all the concrete character of his discourse: "Will you also go away?" (John 6:67), he asked. Thank God, Peter gave an answer that we also assume today with full awareness: "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life" (John 6:68).

In the Eucharist, Christ is really present among us. His presence is not static. It is a dynamic presence, which makes us his, he assimilates us to himself. Augustine understood this very well. Coming from a Platonic formation, it was difficult for him to accept the "incarnate" dimension of Christianity. In particular, he reacted before the prospect of the "Eucharistic meal," which seemed to him unworthy of God. In ordinary meals man becomes stronger, as it is he who assimilates the food, making it an element of his own corporal reality. Only later did Augustine understand that in the Eucharist the exact opposite occurs: the center is Christ who attracts us to himself; he makes us come out of ourselves to make us one with him (cf. Confessions, VII, 10, 16). In this way, he introduces us into the community of brothers.

Here we are faced with a further dimension of the Eucharist, which I would like to touch upon before concluding. The Christ whom we encounter in the sacrament is the same here in Bari, as in Rome, as in Europe, America, Africa, Asia, Oceania. He is the one and same Christ who is present in the Eucharistic bread everywhere on earth. This means that we can only encounter him together with all others. We can only receive him in unity.

Is not this what the Apostle Paul said to us in the reading we just heard? Writing to the Corinthians, he affirmed: "Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread" (1 Corinthians 10:17). The consequence is clear: We cannot commune with the Lord if we do not commune among ourselves. If we wish to present ourselves to him, we must go out to meet one another. To do so, the great lesson of forgiveness is necessary. We must not allow the destructive larva of resentment to take hold of our spirit, but open our heart to the magnanimity of listening to the other, of understanding, of the possible acceptance of his apologies, of the generous offering of our own.

The Eucharist, let us repeat, is the sacrament of unity. But, unfortunately, Christians are divided precisely on the sacrament of unity. All the more reason, therefore, that, supported by the Eucharist, we must feel stimulated to tend with all our strength toward that full unity that Christ ardently desired in the cenacle. Precisely here, in Bari, the city that keeps the bones of St. Nicholas, land of meeting and dialogue with Christian brothers of the East, I would like to confirm my wish to assume as a fundamental commitment to work with all my energies in the reconstitution of the full and visible unity of all the followers of Christ.

I am aware that to do so, expressions of good sentiments are not enough. Concrete gestures are required that will penetrate spirits and stir consciences, inviting each one to that interior conversion that is the premise of all progress on the path of ecumenism (cf. Benedict XVI's Address to Representatives of Christian Churches and Communities and of Other Non-Christian Religions, April 25, 2005). I ask you all to undertake with determination the path of that spiritual ecumenism, which in prayer opens the doors to the Holy Spirit, the only one who can create unity.

Dear friends who have come to Bari from several parts of Italy to celebrate this Eucharistic congress: We must rediscover the joy of the Christian Sunday. We must rediscover with pride the privilege of being able to participate in the Eucharist, which is the sacrament of the renewed world. The resurrection of Christ took place on the first day of the week, which for the Jews was the day of the creation of the world. Precisely for this reason, Sunday was considered by the early Christian community as the day in which the new world began, the day in which Christ's victory over death the new creation began. Coming together around the Eucharistic table, the community was taking shape as the new people of God. St. Ignatius of Antioch called Christians "those who have attained new hope," and he would present them as persons "who live according to Sunday" ("iuxta dominicam viventes"). From this perspective, the bishop of Antioch wondered: "How will we be able to live without the one whom the prophets expected?" ("Epistula ad Magnesios," 9, 1-2).

"How will we be able to live without him?" We hear the echo of the affirmation of the martyrs of Abitene, in these words of St. Ignatius: "Sine dominico non possumus." Our prayer arises from here: may today's Christians again become aware of the decisive importance of the Sunday celebration so that we be able to draw from participation in the Eucharist the necessary drive for a new commitment to proclaim Christ "our peace" to the world" (Ephesians 2:14). Amen!

Our gathering around the sacrifice of Christ and our recognition of his lordship is certainly central to the life of the Christian.

Naturally, being a Protestant, I do not hold to the doctrine of transubstantiation, but being a Wesleyan, I also do not hold to the idea that the Eucharist is simply a symbol, there is an eternal mystery inherent within it and that mystery is life giving.

The picture presented in this writing should appeal to both the masculine and feminine. It points to the mercy, grace and forgiveness of Christ (something emphasised strongly across the Christian spectrum), but it also challenges us to stand strong in that faith and to participate and allow ones life to be transformed by Christ. That challenge is somewhat muted in many churches, yet it is this challenge that appeals to the masculine heart... a heart that needs to be challenged and given a cause to lay its life down for.

This is where the strength of the Catholic and Orthodox church lie, their unchanging nature. Many churches have changed to make the "product" more "marketable" and thus the message has been somewhat dulled, whereas these two bastions of the Christian faith have their line in the sand and call humanity to stand with them and die with them if necessary. This isn't totally gone in other churches, but it is often somewhat more obvious in the more traditional streams of the entire Christian body.

This isn't me jumping ship from my own part of the family, but it's recognising strengths inherent in part of the family that my own part may be lacking.... but being a Wesleyan, I'm just doing what Wesley did, drawing from all streams. Wesley was condemned by many for his softness towards the Orthodox faith especially.... a softness I share.